


Sticks and Stones

by BitterChocolateStars



Series: Build it up, burn it down. [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterChocolateStars/pseuds/BitterChocolateStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery and Acceptance go hand in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Ohana means family.

Grif could hear Simmons whimper from his bed. 

"Simmons, you okay?" He called into the darkness. Even though Emily offered them separate rooms they'd refused. The thought of separating from Simmons made a knot form in Grif's chest. He isn't sure how Simmons feels, doesn't want to ask. Doesn't want to freak him out. The first day Grif had seen Simmons out of surgery, a shiny new arm attached to his shoulder, he'd spent the rest of the day trying not to have a panic attack. It was nearly too much. Too much what? He wasn't sure. Too much change? Too much pain?

"It hurts!" The boy sobbed. "It hurts, why does it hurt?" He was rubbing at his shoulder. The one now connected to the metal arm. 

Because a psychopath snapped and you had to get a new one.  Grif doesn't say it, but he wants to. He slides out of his own bed and into Simmons. Dragging his own pillow and blanket behind him. He get's comfortable, wraps his arms around the taller boy. Notices he's lost weight that he really shouldn't have, he's thin enough. Grif vows to try getting him to eat more, even if it means actually doing the cooking. If it's one thing Simmons seems to love eating no matter the dish, it was Grif's cooking.

"It's the snow." Grif whispers. The first snow day had found Simmons sobbing into his pillow. He'd been nearly delirious from the pain. Now Simmons had pain killers pumping through his veins constantly. Grif hates it, but there's nothing he can do. Well, not nothing. Grif rubs small circles into Simmons shoulder. It always seemed to calm him. Grif's glad he can do at least this for him. He knows it's ridiculous, but he feels guilty about the situation. It's not like it was his fault O'Malley went crazy. But maybe... maybe if he'd been able to protect his little family better. If he'd been quicker. Or stronger.

Ever since Sarge had prodded and extremely nervous Simmons into the apartment on a cold day in October, Grif had known things were going to get very confusing and very annoying. The first night Simmons had a nightmare it had been awful. The boy screamed like he was being murdered. Grif had woken terrified and confused. Once he had realized it was the new kid he'd slid from bed and climbed into Simmons'. He'd used to do this with his sister when she had a bad dream. Bad might have been an understatement in Simmons case, but his presence seemed to sooth Simmons dreams.

The first time he'd seen the scars on Simmons wrists he'd nearly panicked. He made sure to check the thing's in the bathroom to see if they were locked up, he realized that was pointless later. The scars were old. They didn't look like cut's either. He asked Sarge once. He looked Grif dead in the eye and told him he didn't want to know. Grif left it. As long as Simmons was fine Grif wouldn't bring it up. Grif wouldn't bring anything up about the dodgy past he goes to great lengths to avoid. Not that he blames him. The daddy issues rolling off Simmons are enough for a lifetime. Not that Grif could say anything. He has his fair share of issues regarding his own father. Not that he's met the man. Or knows who he is. But he didn't care, not as long as he had his mom and sister. But he doesn't anymore.

All he has are four random dudes he can call family and another four he can call his friends. So Grif tries as best as he's able, to make sure that the people he cares about are okay.  

"Grif." Simmons mumbles his name with a sleep coated voice. Grif hums, caught up in his thoughts. "Thank you."

Grif rests his head atop Simmons'. He doesn't say anything, just hums again. 

 


	2. Your parents don't rule who you are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Church share a serious moment.

He could hear Tucker yell from the kitchen. He stopped hobbling in there as fast as he was able after the first time. He really didn't have the energy to keep going back and forth every time Tucker went in there. Instead he just called from the couch in Emily's living room.

"The soup again?" Church smirked when he heard Tucker growl.

"Fuck the soup man!" He trudged into living room, a bowl held in his hands. "I want a burger. Or like, a steak."

"Don't say that where Grif can hear you." Church snickered. 

Tucker grimaced, flopping down on the couch next to Church. "At least he can eat it." He sighed, scooping a spoonful of soup in his mouth. 

Church rolls his eyes. "Dude Emily says you've got another month before you can go back to eating solids."

Tucker pouted into his soup. "I want to eat them now."

Church ignores him and resumes watching whatever it was he was watching on the TV. Some spy movie that he can't remember the name of. He glances over at Tucker a few times to see him pouting into this bowl. He can't get over how young Tucker looks sometimes. Like he was still that eleven year old kid sauntering into the apartment for the first time all those years ago. Then Church can't help but think about the look on his face when O'Malley put a knife in him. Can't stop thinking about how hard Tucker cried when Emily finally woke him up. Tucker's followed him everywhere. At first Church kinda liked the company. Liked feeling like an older brother. Now though. Now all he want's is for Tucker to realize that being around Church is dangerous. Church had explained who he was, who his father was. Why O'Malley targeted them in the first place. It was his fault this happened, yet no one seemed to blame him and it was driving him crazy. They should be pissed. They should be refusing to speak to him. They shouldn't be sitting on the couch pouting into chicken soup next to him like nothing was wrong.

"What's wrong with you?" Tucker's voice broke through his thoughts. Church jerked his head from the TV to look at the other boy. 

"This movie sucks?" He says blankly.

Tucker snorts. "Not what I asked dude. I can tell you're thinking about something fucking stupid right now, that's Caboose's job. Yours is too act like an ass and whine about everything."

They both chuckle half-heartedly. Caboose was still a touchy subject for them.

Tucker was giving him that look. The 'I'm way to manly to ask out loud, but please talk to me about your feelings.' look that he gets sometimes when he's worried about someone. Kid was like Simmons that way, only he refused to ask the awkward questions out loud.

"How can you even stand to be around me?" He decided to ask honestly. "Everything that's happened to us. It's my fault." He staring at the bandage over Tuckers injury.

Tucker sat in silence for a moment, simply looking down at his bowl of soup. Finally he set his spoon down and sighed. "Something I learned when i was younger, before Butch found me. Before i left home. Was that it doesn't matter who your parents are. You aren't them. Their ideas and shit, aren't yours. I'm not gonna hate you because some old man can't get his head out of his ass." Tucker looked so serious that Church almost laughed. He didn't. This was something personal that Tucker had never shared with him. They didn't often talk about their pasts. In fact he can count on one hand the times they've shared anything about themselves with each other.

"So what's your job for our group?" Church asks instead of saying 'Thank you, that means more than you know.'.

Tucker doesn't mind. "Well i'm obviously here to look good." He laughs. "Like your hot sidekick. Only I'm a lover not a fighter man." He doesn't say 'Dude i get it, parent's are shitty people sometimes, yours happens to be murderous.'. 

Church snorts. "You're an idiot." He still feels a gnawing dread settling in him for the future. This wouldn't be his fathers last attempt on his life, or his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost titled 'The art of no homo' lol i'm saving that title for something else now.
> 
> Sorry updates are sluggish, still chipping away at these chapters and trying to learn HTML+CSS as well, so i have to split my time.


	3. Wakey wakey sleeping pastry.

Simmons found Grif and Tucker in Donuts room. Both asleep on the floor against the wall. They've been in here every other night since the thirteenth week of Donuts coma passed them. Since they had to celebrate Donut's birthday without him. His presents were still sitting wrapped on the table next to his bed. A pair of new ballet shoes from Sarge. A 'lightish red' scarf with little frosted doughnuts on them from Simmons, who taught himself to knit. A small bracelet sent from Doc who couldn't leave the city. Tucker had gotten him a small bird hairclip to replace the one now stained with blood. Grif had spent a day with Emily and Simmons searching a book store to find a copy of Donuts favorite book, also lost to blood stains. Church had pooled with Butch and got Donut tickets to a ballet that was showing a year from now.

It was weird not having the chipper boy around all the time. Chattering in his ear and chasing Grif from the kitchen. Just as it was weird not having Caboose run around the house. It felt empty without their two missing members. 

Simmons sighed and sat down next to Grif. Leaning against the other boy for comfort. Grif snorted in his sleep and shifted closer, head rolling onto his shoulder to use as a pillow. Simmons wasn't sure what was happening between them. If Donut were here he'd have been able to tell him. Been able to talk him through the confusing feelings he's noticed lately whenever he thought of boy next to him. Simmons looked up at Donuts peaceful expression. He wished the boy would wake up already. Every day that passed was like another reminder that he might never wake up. 

If only he'd been more careful, paid more attention, maybe he could have prevented this. He'd known the boy was unstable. He'd felt that he was dangerous. If only he'd trusted himself. If he'd tried harder to get Donut to sleep in his and Grif's room.  He could have saved Donut from this.

Simmons curled up tighter and closed his eyes. Resting his head atop Grif's. In the morning he would find himself, Grif and Tucker wrapped in a blanket. Church would be lounging in the chair next to Donuts bed. This would repeat for the next week and a half.

One morning Simmons is doing a round of cleaning. Having sent Grif and Tucker outside to get them out of his hair. They've been trapped with each other for months now. Not allowed to leave the property without an escort. Simmons swore that if they weren't let out soon someone was going to go insane. Mainly him. He was used to being able to leave the house and go for a walk when he needed space, or time to himself. But with Church growling at anyone who bugged him longer than an hour Grif and Tucker had taken up following him around the house making messes.

He was passing by Donuts room when he noticed that the flowers needed to be changed out. Donut wouldn't let any one of them wake up to dead flowers. So Simmons slipped inside the room and began to toss the flowers out. As he moved around the room to dump out the vase for fresh water he heard something behind him.

It sounded almost like... A sigh. 

His heart stuttered. Tensing he turned around and studied the boy on the bed. He almost convinced himself he was hearing things. He walked over to the bed and set the vase back in it's spot on the table. He turned to go pick fresh flowers when he heard it again, this time followed by a a very quiet, near silent groaning. Simmons snapped around. Donut's mouth twisted like he'd tasted something bad. His eye's fluttered but didn't open. 

"Donut?" He called out softly. The boy let out a quiet whimper. Simmons nearly stumbled over himself to get to the door. "EMILY!" He practically screamed down the hall. He turned back and rushed to Donuts side.  "Donut, can you hear me?" He asked the boy gently. He stood to the boys right, knowing the hearing in his left ear was probably damaged.

Donut's eye's cracked open, his left eye was a mess of scaring so in the end only his right one opened properly. O'Malley had done a number on him before Grif and Simmons crept into that room. "-mmons?" The boy rasps. 

Simmons wasn't sure what to say. His eyes stung and his throat ached. In the end he blurted out "Happy Birthday." while tears dripped down his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was admittedly on painkillers when i thought of the title.


End file.
